


Ugly Scars and Beautiful Words

by musicforlife101



Series: Captain Canary Hiatus Fics [9]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant -ish, Captain Canary, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, if canon included the whole soulmate trope, in terms of lineup and team dynamics, or post Left Behind, set vaguely post Star City 2046 but pre Marooned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicforlife101/pseuds/musicforlife101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara Lance always knew her soulmate was a dangerous person, led a dangerous life. It was the only explanation to the mark that curled up the length of her torso.</p><p>Leonard Snart had never known what his mark meant, never had any idea who it might belong to, and had had very little desire to bring someone into his messy life. Until Sara decided to do the salmon ladder in her sports bra.</p><p>Late Fill for Captain Canary Hiatus Fest - AU #5</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ugly Scars and Beautiful Words

**Author's Note:**

> I'm such a tart for soulmate AUs. I read too many of them and I really enjoyed writing this one, so I may be tempted to branch out and explore some of the other pairs mentioned here. Or the continuing adventures of Sara and Leonard. Or both. =]
> 
> This was also partially inspired by Current Amusements by dragonydreams, who mentions that literally no one seems to do the salmon ladder with their shirt on. Which is true, and a helpful plot device for me!
> 
> I briefly mention Coldwave and Coldflash in this story, though I don't necessarily ship them, because I see exactly why people do. Just as an fyi.
> 
> Also, I'm going to continue writing and posting things from Hiatus Fest, because I was out of town/exhausted to delirium for so much of it, even though hiatus is over. But it will be sporadic.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own LOT
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Leonard’s arm itched. The left one. Just above his wrist. Right where his mark started. It had been doing that more and more lately. He scratched absentmindedly. 

He hadn’t even bothered with his jacket today, already too warm in his long sleeved shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms. The Waverider was parked on a hillock in Southern Italy. In August. And the sun was baking the hull, making any room near an exterior bulkhead incredibly hot. Jax thought the climate control system might need maintenance, so he was in the engine room poking around. Ray and Kendra were out enjoying the sun and getting the feel of the town beyond, while Rip was working on plans with Gideon. Leonard preferred to be part of the planning stages. But he felt restless today and ended up in the training room, disassembling and reassembling his cold gun.

Sara wandered in wearing a loose t-shirt and cropped leggings. He didn’t bother to hide the way his gaze lingered on her. It was their little game. She smirked in lieu of a greeting and stripped off her t-shirt. Normally, the idea of Sara Lance doing the salmon ladder in front of him in nothing but a sports bra and tight leggings would be extremely enticing. He enjoyed watching her train. She was so strong and graceful, and he would admit that he admired her. But he had only ever _imagined_ her this undressed. He had never imagined her mark, where it would be, that it would be that big.

Hands moving habitually over his gun, he followed the thick blue line – like glacial ice – up from her toned abs, around the right side of her ribcage, up her side to where he knew – but could not see – it ended under her right shoulder blade. It knotted thickly under her ribs and shone like scar tissue where it slipped beneath her bra.

He blinked and turned away. After a moment of perfect stillness, he set his gun aside and dropped to the floor. Each pushup was a struggle. His forearm itched, he was sweating in the heat, and his eyes traitorously drifted to Sara if he didn’t concentrate. After a while, he switched to climbers, still keeping his eyes down as much as he could.

Leonard was desperately trying to find ways to work out without looking at Sara, who was now practicing on a dummy with her staff. She’d asked him what was wrong, but he’d just grunted and she let it drop. Ray and Kendra walked in, looking sunny and annoying, and saving him with distraction.

“What are you guys doing in here? This is like the hottest room on the ship,” Ray said as he walked in. He stood and Sara stepped up beside him, leaning on her staff, mercifully with her mark facing away from him.

“A warrior trains every day,” he quipped. She knocked him in the shoulder, but she was smiling.

Kendra stopped just as she opened her mouth to speak. Leonard didn’t need to follow her gaze to know why. “Whoa, Sara, how did you – is that your mark?”

“Huh?” She looked down, as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Yeah. I was born with it, which kind of freaked my parents out. They made the doctor like triple check that I was fine.”

She was born with it? That was rare. Most marks appeared around age 5. His hadn’t appeared until he was fifteen. He did some quick math in his head and tried not to frown when it added up.

The conversation buzzed at the edge of his perception. “I’ve seen a lot of marks and I’ve never seen one quite this blue,” Kendra was saying, following it with her eyes.

“I’ve never understood the color. But I guess I’ve always known my soulmate was a dangerous person. You have to live a dangerous life to be associated with a scar like this.” She thumbed the edge of it. Leonard tried not to squirm.

Kendra rolled up her gauzy sleeve and showed Sara the ancient language drawn on her bicep in gold. “As far as I remember, this has been mine for several lives now.”

“It’s Carter?” Sara asked, mostly out of politeness. Carter had basically told them as much.

“His name in the language of our first lives.”

Ray nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ve never seen a mark quite like yours either. Mine is brown. It was for – Anna.”

Sara recognized the name. “Your fiancée. She died when Deathstroke attacked, didn’t she?” He nodded, face pinching a little at the memory.

Ray cleared his throat and looked to Leonard. “What about you?” Leonard raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to share after all of us did?”

“I don’t share.” He turned, put his cold gun back in its case, and left to take a very cold shower. It was too damn hot on this godforsaken ship.

 

* * *

 

“What if he doesn’t have one?” Jax asked, feeling uncomfortable even saying it.

“That seems highly unlikely, Jefferson,” Stein said, though he didn’t seem wholly convinced.

“I’ve heard of people who don’t,” Ray said.

“I suppose it might explain some of Mr. Snart’s personality,” Stein added.

“No, I think he has one,” Kendra said. She sounded much more confident. “He had this look on his face while we were talking about it.”

“Could be jealous, or angry that he doesn’t have one,” Ray suggested with a shrug.

“What if it’s Mick?” Jax interjected. There were a lot of raised eyebrows, but no one denied the possibility.

“It could be Barry Allen,” Stein said. “They’ve always enjoyed a certain witty repartee.”

Everyone fell silent when Leonard’s footsteps entered the room. The four team members were huddled around the center island in the communal kitchen. Not a very private place. And Leonard had heard a great deal of their conversation before they heard his boots.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen Barry’s mark. It’s Iris.” He filled his bottle with ice water from the dispenser and walked out.

Leonard Snart had never liked conversations about soulmates. Didn’t even really like the word. His father hadn’t had one. His mother’s had died young. His had shown up late, and when his mark did appear he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. As a teenager, he’d been sure it was just a complex symbol or drawing, not a language, and he’d learned to draw it perfectly. Part of him hated its existence and its complexity on top of that, but another part of him thought it was beautiful to look at. He'd definitely scratched it into a bunk in juvie once or twice. As he got older, researched things to steal, he realized it was probably Arabic. Though he’d never trusted anyone enough to show them, to find someone who could read it.

The last thing he wanted was to listen to his teammates speculate about his soulmate.

Kendra waved the others closer. “I think it’s Sara.”

Eyebrows shot up. “You think Snart’s soulmate is Sara?” Jax asked, incredulous.

“Her mark is the exact color of his eyes.”

“Which doesn’t mean anything. That is an old wives’ tale, Ms. Saunders,” Stein said.

“You didn’t see the way he kept looking at her, at her mark, and then trying to look away. He looked at it like he knew what it meant.”

 

* * *

 

Leonard wandered into the training room, sipping his water. Jax had fixed the air conditioning, mostly, and it was much cooler than the day before. Sara was in the training room, wearing her shirt this time, and practicing hand-to-hand with one of the dummies.

“Hey crook,” she said, breathing just a little harder than normal. He nodded, mind still on the conversation he’d just overheard. “You feel like sparring, Leonard? This thing is fine, but I’d rather hit something that hits back.” She smirked. “Or at least tries to.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure, sounds like fun.” Leonard set his water bottle on the floor beside the mats, rolling his shoulders and waiting for her to amble over. They circled each other for a moment, and he waited for her to strike. She was just as restless as he was, and broke quickly. He blocked the blow and swung back, a little too clumsy in his haste. She didn’t lay him out, though she could have. This wasn’t about beating him, or even training. Today, she needed to blow off steam. They grappled, swinging and twisting and trying to restrain each other.

Leonard grabbed Sara, wrapping an arm around her. She twisted, his fingers clutching only her shirt. It pulled up as she moved, exposing the blue mark that curled around her torso. He pulled his hand back as though it had been burned. Sara used the moment, grabbing his left arm and flipping him over her and onto the mat. She pinned him firmly, breathing hard as she looked down into his face.

“I yield,” he panted. On any other day, he would have tried to buck her off, recover, wouldn’t yield so easily. But her hand was on his mark, thumb touching the bare skin. It itched and tingled and buzzed, so much that it was almost painful. Sara squirmed, which did not help. “Off, Sara,” he grunted. She squirmed again, glancing up at where she had pinned his left arm. A swirl of black peaked out from beneath his sleeve.

“Is this your mark?” she asked, thumb brushing it again without her realizing it. He nodded stiffly. “I told Kendra I’d never seen yours. She asked this morning.”

“They’re discussing it in the kitchen,” he grunted. She wasn’t heavy enough for her crouching on his chest to bother him, but he hoped she would heed his tone. She didn’t, much too focused on his mark.

“Can I see it?” she asked suddenly. “You were staring at mine yesterday.” He took a breath and nodded.

Sara pushed back his sleeve, revealing a neat row of Arabic script, running right to left from his wrist toward his elbow. She straightened his arm and looked at it for a moment.

Then she was scrambling backward, away from his arm. She perched near his feet and he sat up to follow her. Crouching over his legs, she watched the script on his arm and it remained unchanged. He didn’t bother to pull down his sleeve, didn’t speak for a long moment, hoping she would.

When it became clear that if she had the words, she couldn’t speak, he prompted, “You can read Arabic?”

She nodded. “It’s the language of the League.” He knew this, had considered for a while now that Sara might be able to tell him what his mark meant. And he trusted her most of anyone on the ship. But he’d worried about this reaction.

“Sara, what does it say?”

Her eyes shot up to his. “You don’t know?”

“Who would I have asked?” She nodded, understanding. She was good at that. Her eyes drifted back to his arm.

“Just figured you’d have taught yourself Arabic.”

“I’ve been a little busy. Lot of banks to rob.” She tried a chuckle, but it came out as a huff of breath. She looked at his arm again. She squirmed, as though something had just zinged up her torso. After a beat, she stood and walked out of the training room, limbs stiff and gait awkward. Leonard sat on the floor, legs splayed in front of him and one sleeve rolled to his elbow. He tugged it down, watching the flowing black script slowly disappear under the grey cotton of his shirt. All his adult life, he’d been rough with it, tried to rub it off, given his arm road rash with the force of his distaste. But that felt wrong now.

Sara clearly knew what it meant, and perhaps who it was for. He had a sneaking suspicion. He could always have Gideon translate it for him, an option he’d absently considered since joining the Legends. Or he could give Sara some time to cool off and go ask her. There was no contest. Sara was vastly preferable to the uppity AI.

He got up from the mat and went to shower.

  

* * *

 

Late that evening, Sara was still in her room. The others had asked him if she was alright and he’d made some snarky, noncommittal comment. He hadn’t even been paying attention to the conversation. He retreated to his room after dinner and decided to give her another hour and a half. He really didn’t expect her to come to his room and confront him. But forty-five minutes later there was a very determined knock on his door. Sara stood on the other side. 

She pushed past him as soon as he opened the door. Once he’d closed it behind her, she lifted the right side of her shirt. Giving him a clear view of her mark and the edge of a dark blue bra.

“What is this?” she demanded. He didn’t smirk, though he wanted to. Of course she’d figured it out. He pulled up the right side of his shirt, revealing a dark pink scar that twisted up his torso in an identical pattern. She dropped her shirt, hand reaching almost involuntarily for him. He dropped his shirt and pulled up his sleeve.

“Tell me what this means first.”

She looked down at his forearm, then at her feet. “It’s –” She sighed. After a moment, she reached for his arm, looking to him for permission. He nodded. It was going to itch, burn, hurt for her to touch the skin, like it had through his sleeve earlier, but she clearly needed the contact and he wouldn’t deny her. Sara followed the words from his wrist up with the tips of her fingers. It didn’t hurt. It felt like dipping his arm in a cool, cleansing stream. The buzzing under his skin stopped and he could feel where the calluses on her fingers began, how soft her skin was. “Ta-er al’Safer,” she read, following the words again. “Ta-er ‘abyad.” He watched her face. The first part he recognized, but not the rest. “Canary, my League name, and ‘white bird’.”

“Who you were and who you have become,” he said, whisper-soft. His voice felt so far away. She nodded.

He reached for the hem of her shirt, left arm sliding through her hand. He watched her face, waiting for her to nod. She did, not moving her eyes from his face. Slowly, he slid his hand under her shirt, following the mark with his fingertips. Each muscle group relaxed as he touched it, and a shudder went through her as his index finger slipped under her bra, while the rest of his hand continued tracing it around her shoulder.

“Off, now,” she growled, yanking on his shirt. With effort, he pulled his left hand from her skin and the right from where it had come to rest on her hip. Leonard pulled his shirt off, not self-conscious for perhaps the first time since he was ten years old.

Sara reached for him, but he stopped her. “You too,” he said, gripping the hem of her shirt. She raised her arms and he pulled it off. By the time it hit the floor, he was urging her back onto his bed. She went happily, biting her lower lip to suppress the smile she couldn’t control. Once Leonard was fully on the bed, she flipped them so she was on top and straddling his waist. He didn’t mind, smiling up at her just the same, letting his hands come to rest at the waistband of her jeans.

Her small, strong hands rested on his ribs. “So we’re soulmates then.”

“Unless someone else has that scar and there’s some other Canary I’m supposed to be looking for,” he said.

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ and sounding lighter than she had since the _Gambit_ sank. This was the feeling Felicity had tried to explain. “Just me.” She leaned down to kiss him. He surged up to reciprocate, hands splaying across her back, holding her closer. When breathing became an issue, they pulled back gasping. Sara’s hand crawled up his side, tracing the scar, as her lips followed the line of neck down to his chest. He slid one hand into her hair. She worked her way methodically down until she reached his scar. Her fingers flitted across it even as she placed a feather-light kiss on the knot of scar tissue under his ribs. It was an ugly thing and he’d always hated it, but it didn’t faze Sara.

She sighed, breath tickling his skin. “Len, who did this to you?”

“Does it matter? It was a long time ago.” He was deflecting. She pinched him, hard.

“It matters,” she said once he was looking at her again. “I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

He snorted. “Already did that.”

“Your father?” she asked, though it wasn’t really a question. She knew about his attempt to prevent his father from going to prison and coming back with the desire to use his son as a punching bag. Knew he’d killed his father in Central City.

“Yeah. Beer bottle.” She closed her eyes. It was hard not imagining the wound. It was harder knowing she couldn’t make the bastard bleed. She’d wondered all her life what kind of edge could make that scar. Broken bottle fit.

“No one is gonna touch you again if I have anything to say about it.”

“Possessive,” he said, smirking. He unclasped her bra with one hand. Her smile turned wicked as it joined her shirt on the floor and she leaned down to kiss him again.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Sara stepped groggily into the kitchen wearing one of Leonard’s long sleeved shirts with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of his boxers. He suppressed his smile and handed her a mug of coffee, black, two sugars. She inhaled, feeling a little more awake already, and rocked up on her toes to drop a kiss on his jaw. He wrapped an arm around her waist as she dropped back to the floor and leaned into his side, sipping her coffee. This wasn’t exactly the moment he’d hoped to tell the team. He would have chosen not to tell them at all if he thought he could get away with it. But he knew he couldn’t, and a sleepy Sara Lance was his kryptonite.

There was a scuffling at the table as Kendra elbowed Jax in the ribs. Leonard smirked. He kissed the top of Sara’s head and watched their whispered bickering increase.

“Len, can we go back to bed? It’s early.”

He smiled. Sara’s hatred of mornings amused him greatly. “Apparently we have work to do today. Would you like to break into the town hall with me?”

She hummed around her mug. “Sounds fun.”

“Go sit. I’ll bring our breakfast.” He gave her a little push toward the table and turned to the replicator.

Sara sat across from Jax, Kendra, and Ray, sipping her coffee. After a moment, she realized they were looking at her strangely and Jax was trying to speak. She raised an eyebrow. It was too early for whatever this shit was.

“So, uh, you and Snart.” Jax hesitated.

“Me and Leonard.”

“So you’re – are you guys –?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure what he was asking. Were they – together? Soulmates? Partners? A _thing_? The answer was E) all of the above. ‘Yes’ covered it. And it was a small enough word for the hour.

Leonard set a garden omelet in front of her and sat down in the empty seat to her right. He realized the others were watching them straight away, but started eating in the hope that they would snap out of it. They didn’t.

“Spit it out, kid,” he said, looking at Jax. He liked Jax, and the kid was one of the least immature members of the team, but he would be the first to break.

“So, you and Sara are – soulmates, then?”

“I’ve never liked that word.”

“Really?” Sara asked, looking at him. She was more awake now that she had food in her stomach and caffeine in her veins.

He shrugged. “Never meant anything good before.”

She paused, returning her fork to her plate, and considered alternatives. “Well, _Mick_ is your partner.”

“Not right now he’s not.”

Sara laid her hand on his wrist, fingers sliding up his sleeve. “He will be again.” He nodded tightly. She thought for a long moment, fingers tracing over the edge of his mark. “Do we need a label?” She looked up at Jax. “We’re just Sara and Leonard.”

“Leonard and Sara,” he added.

She looked at him with a grin. “Captain Canary!”

“No.”

“Yes,” she said, grinning wider.

“No.”

“Yes,” she repeated, failing to suppress her cackles.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, turning back to his breakfast.

“It’s actually really disturbing seeing you two be all mushy,” Jax said.

“I am not _mushy_ ,” Leonard said, the final word leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

“You kind of are,” Kendra said apologetically. He glared at her.

Sara patted his hand. “We have a town hall to break into, right? We’ll get your reputation as a hardened criminal back.” She pecked him on the cheek. He could practically hear Kendra melt at how ‘cute’ and ‘mushy’ they were. He was going to be stuck with it for the rest of his life. He looked down at Sara, watching him with that wicked smile on her face.

He could live with that.


End file.
